


Bloody Justice

by livvylive



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Child Abuse, Vigilantism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livvylive/pseuds/livvylive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some people deserve to die.<br/>Trigger warnings for child abuse, referenced rape of a minor, and violence. Inspired by a conversation with http://mac-rj-cready.tumblr.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloody Justice

A man made of metal and wires couldn't have headaches. Nick knew that, but his head was still pounding and he was still sick to the stomach he didn't have. The smoke wouldn't do a damn thing for him, but he lit a cigarette anyway and took a long drag as he studied the case file he'd left open on his desk. It had been an easy case. The girl was already home with her parents, and rightfully furious with the lover who'd promised to sweep her away to a thriving farm and instead taken her to a patch of arid land by the Glowing Sea. Everything had turned out well, but it wasn't the case that had him lost in grim thoughts.

The only light in Nick's cluttered office was the faint yellow glow of his eyes. Ellie was in bed, and since Nick himself didn't need much light to see by he'd decided to save on the outrageous electric bill they always managed to rack up. Course, there wasn't much he needed to read. It was just a name, already rattling around in the chips that made up his mind.

Sal DeVicio.

Sal didn't matter much to the case. Nick had caught wind that he'd maybe sold Flo's lover a gun, so the synth had tightened his trench coat around himself and set out for Goodneighbor. Sal's apartment had been a real run-down wreck. That in itself wasn't unusual for the town, of course, but there'd been a little girl there. Tiny little doll, she'd been, with messy braids and a too-big shirt. Sal's daughter, maybe. Frankly, Nick didn't _want_ to remember the way she'd cowered when Sal broke off his conversation with Nick to shout at the girl when she'd started to hum quietly to herself. And when Nick had glanced her way, seen the skin of her arms...

Nick knew what cigarette burns looked like. And he knew they had no damn place on a five-year-old's skin.

He also knew there was an easy way to solve the problem. All he had to do was make the call. _That_ was what was weighing on him, preying on him as he made his way through the better part of a pack of cigarettes. Drop a note on the right desk, and Sal _would_ die. Probably horribly. The process would make a mockery of the sort of justice the old Nick Valentine had defended for so long, but that sort of justice didn't have much place in the 'Wealth anymore. There weren't any court system, and there sure as hell weren't any cops. Just ex-cops, and the kind of brutal 'justice' that ended in blood and tears. Thing was, for all that Nick played the good cop, there were just some people who _deserved_ that sort of justice. A puff of ash flew into the air as Nick crushed his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray on his desk and slammed the file shut. There _were_ people who deserved bloody justice, and Sal DeVicio was one of them. Anyone who used a kid as an ashtray and kept her so scared that she started to shake at the sound of raised voices deserved to be taken out.

A handful of hours later, there was a scrap of crumpled paper on a certain desk in a certain state house in Goodneighbor. On it was scrawled a single name.

_Sal DeVicio._

-

"Hey, sunshine." Hancock's smoky, rasping voice pulled Thorn's attention away from the pieces parts spread across the workbench in front of her. They'd been occupying her attention for the better part of the morning as she tried to decipher the inner workings of power armor. Sturges had stopped by to drop a long line of explanations she didn't fully understand, but after he'd been called away all she had to lean on were some hasty notes he'd jotted down. Those had been set aside with a shrug. They might be helpful if she had Hancock read them to her late, but for now they were about as useful as a cock on a feral ghoul.

Her expression was stony as she let her eyes wander over the intricate pieces she'd extracted from the spare power armor arm she'd looted from a wearer. Each part got twisted and turned in her head as she imagined the ways they all fit into each other, searching for the sense in the pile of parts. Hancock's greeting was a welcome distraction, and her gaze softened considerably when she glanced up at him. She didn't quite smile at him, but it was a close thing. "Hancock?"

For once, a goofy smile didn't split the ghoul's expression. His mouth was set in a hard line, and his eyes were remarkably clear. He was, apparently, sober. That more than anything else put Thorn on high alert. The glint in his dark eyes was one she'd seen before. It was there when he stabbed Finn in front of her, and again when Thorn had flatly announced that she'd killed Bobbi No-Nose. It was a glint that meant someone who deserved it had died or was about to, and it was a reminder that for everything else he was- sweet, passionate, addicting, addicted- Hancock was _dangerous._

Sometimes Thorn even saw that glint in her own eyes when she looked in the mirror. She and Hancock made a good couple, or so she'd been told.

Thorn didn't have to ask who was going to die. Hancock, talking as easily as if they were discussing the weather, began explaining before she could so much as raise an eyebrow at him. "Sal. DeVicio." The words were nearly a growl, and at odds with the ghoul's easy posture as he leaned against the wall next to Thorn and casually rolled up his sleeve. "You heard that name before, sunshine? Because I haven't. But he's one of mine, apparently. Has the balls to call my city his home." Once his sleeve was past his elbow, Hancock's deft fingers drew a syringe of _something_ from the pouch at his belt. There was writing on the side, a label of some sort, but even if reading was one of Thorn's strengths she would have been hard-pressed to make out the scratchy scrawl. "But I ain't even heard of him. Which means he's been flying under my radar." Hancock didn't so much as flinch when the needle entered his skin. He only paused for a moment, closing his eyes as he shot himself full of whatever it was he'd chosen to still his shaking hands for a few hours. Thorn simply watched impassively. Her lover's habit was nothing new to her, and she knew he was far more aware of his own limitations than most users would be. Hancock's chems had never bothered her, no more than her lack of sexual interest had bothered Hancock. "I don't like that," Hancock finished after a moment. "I don't like it at all, sunshine. You know why?" The last was directed right at Thorn, unlike the rambling leading up to it had been, but she didn't reply. Rhetorical questions were a strength of his, and she rarely bothered to pretend they genuinely needed answering.

Sure enough, Hancock went right on talking. The glint in his eyes shone with a dangerous light as he leveled his gaze Thorn's way. "Turns out, Mr. DeVicio's got a little girl. And according to the little birdies I've been talking to, he likes to use her as an ashtray and rent her out when he runs out of chems."

There was nothing more Hancock needed to say. Thorn was already on her feet, power armor forgotten. Her dark eyes, only ever warm for a precious few people, had gone colder than ice. Her voice could have cut steel when she spoke. "Find Strong."

A slow smile curved Hancock's cracked and rotted lips. It was not a happy expression. It was the sort of smile a mutant gave his prey, the sort that was hungry and promised death.

"I knew you'd get me, sunshine," he called out. Thorn, stalking away with a predatory stride, didn't bother to reply.

-

It was a strange crew that wandered into the slums of Goodneighbor. A synth, a ghoul, a Super Mutant, and a human. It was like the set-up to a bad joke. The ghoul was laughing as they walked, keeping up a bright stream of over-eager chatter. He moved like a jet addict, every motion jerky and too sharp. Much of what he had to say seemed to be directed at the human woman, but she looked neither left nor right as she strode down alley after alley. As if the guns at her belt and the sword on her back weren't enough, she carried herself like a killer. There was a promise of blood in every controlled movement she made. Despite the one-sided nature of the conversation the ghoul was carrying on, it was clear the two were close. They never drifted far from one another, and one was always watching the other's back.

The synth was several strides ahead of the rest of the group. Curls of smoke hung in the air behind him, trailing from the lit cigarette clutched between bare metal fingers. His hat was pulled low, nearly covering his bright yellow eyes, but he walked with certainty. This was not the first time he'd found himself in these slums, and it showed.

It was the fourth member of the odd group that caused those they came across to dart away. A tall Super Mutant, glaring about with baleful eyes, stomped just behind the ghoul and the woman. His footsteps seemed to shake the earth. 'Stealth' was clearly not a word in his vocabulary. Judging by the dim light in his eyes, his preference would have been to raze the city to the ground. Something, however, kept him at bay.

It didn't take long for the group to reach their destination. Nick recognized the place, though it wasn't much different from the hovels to the left and right of it. There were some advantages to having a synth's memory. Pausing in front of the door, he took a last long drag of his cigarette before flicking it to the ground and crushing the embers under his his heel. "This is the place," he announced flatly, turning his glowing gaze on Thorn. Her eyes had been boring into his back for the last hour or so, and it felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders when she stepped forward and slammed her fist against the door. The old wood shook in its frame with the force of her blows, and the loud banging cut off Hancock's aimless, jet-fueled chatter. Still in the back, Strong shifted and rolled his bulging shoulders.

It didn't take long for Thorn's attempt to destroy the door to garner a response from within. A loud shout rang out. "Fuck's sake! I'm fucking coming. Shoot you if you break my door, I swear to fuckin' god!" It wasn't enough to satisfy Thorn. She kept knocking, even as the splintered wood tore at her knuckles, until the door swung open to reveal a tall man with beady eyes.

Sal DeVicio was big. He wasn't fat, though he _had_ a layer of fat. It covered his muscles, burying them while at the same time making him look all the more imposing. From the way he carried himself, all puffed-out chest and chin held high, he was apparently used to his stature intimidating most people he met. It wasn't nearly enough to intimidate Thorn. If looks could kill, Sal would have been bleeding on the floor the moment he opened the door. Despite the venom in her gaze, however, the taciturn woman said nothing. She just held her ground, until one of Hancock's wrinkled hands came to rest heavily on her shoulders. There was a process to all of this. It was something the four unlikely allies had down to a science. Thorn knocked, Hancock talked.

"Sal. DeVicio." Hancock drawled the name as he gently pushed Thorn out of the way. His manic grin didn't reach his eyes. "How's it goin', pal? Mind if we come in?" Sal didn't get a chance to respond. Hancock was _fast_ , and suddenly the tip of a wicked-looking knife was denting the skin just below his Adam's apple. "Course you don't! Be a great guy and shift to the side then." A little pressure was all it took to get Sal moving out of the doorway, and a little more stopped the man when he opened his mouth to speak.

The inside of the shack was just as filthy as the outside. Hancock was the first inside, and gave the place a casual once-over. "Real nice, Sal. You'd think a guy'd have pride in where he lives, huh? 'Course, maybe you're too busy taking care of your little girl. Is that what it is, Sal?" The knife scraped along the tender flesh of Sal's throat, never quite breaking skin. There was a process to all of this. Hancock wasn't the one who got to kill Sal, but he could still have his fun scaring the man.

Thorn was the next one into the hut. Her gaze slid over every inch of the place, but the filth didn't register with her. There was a process, and she had a job to do. The children always clung to her, trusted her before any of the others. Maybe it was her sex, and the little ones felt safe reaching out to her because she was a woman. Maybe damaged spirits recognized one another. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. It gave Thorn a purpose, and the moment she spotted the little girl cowering in a corner she crossed the room without hesitation. There were no calming words of reassurance. That was Nick's job, not hers. Still, she was careful to move slowly once she reached the girl. She offered a hand, scarred and callused, to the little girl, and squatted so she wasn't towering over her. "Come with me." Nick was the one who was comforting, but Thorn's voice was still soft. "You're leaving. He won't hurt you anymore."

Her grip was steady and sure when the little girl slipped her hand into Thorn's.

There was a process to all of this. By the time Thorn had the child in her arms, Strong was already in the room. Sal was sweating, fear in his eyes, and the faint scent of fresh piss hung in the air. Hancock was still talking, but DeVicio's eyes were locked on the Super Mutant. Nick was still waiting outside, ready for the girl when Thorn brought her out. A smile immediately softened his worn features, and he was quick to take the girl from Thorn and charm her. There was something about Nick that screamed 'caring father', and it suited his role in all of this perfectly. It was his job to keep the girl safe and take her somewhere far where she'd been found. That was what he'd done since the beginning. Unlike the others, he had never been in it for the blood.

Thorn was just the opposite.

The screaming started before Nick was even out of the alley.

-

It was nearly an hour before Thorn and Hancock left the shack. There was _something_ spattered across Thorn's cheek, and blood and darker things dripped from Hancock's knife as it dangled from her fingers. Hancock himself was finally quiet. The overzealousness and wild hand gestures from before had died, and the glint in his eyes had finally faded. Every now and again he turned a soft look Thorn's way, concern in his eyes, but he honored the silence between them. Thorn herself once again walked down the grimy alley without so much as a glance at the world around her, but there was something different about her. Something was looser, calmer, as if an old pain had been temporarily eased. They'd finished what they set out to do, and things were just a little closer to right.

Strong was not with them. Sal wasn't dead yet, not quite, and he still had his part to play in their process. Strong was _hungry_ , and once Hancock and Nick and Thorn were finished with their duties it was his turn to take part in the fun.

There was one last scream, echoing behind Hancock and Thorn, as Strong began to sate his hunger. Neither the ghoul nor the woman looked back.


End file.
